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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518942">Between Birth And Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teyamarra/pseuds/Teyamarra'>Teyamarra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, F/F, Near Death Experiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teyamarra/pseuds/Teyamarra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ernest Hemingway once said that “dying is a very simple thing. I’ve looked at death, and really I know. If I should have died it would have been very easy for me. Quite the easiest thing I ever did.” </p><p>Some people think dying is difficult, but you knew better, you knew how easy, it was. Dying is sort of like being born in reverse, as you die, your senses start fading out, one by one. First it was your sight, the world gradually got fuzzy, blurry, to the point where you couldn’t make out the features of the man leaning over you, begging you to hold on. And then there was the searing pain in your torso, slowly fading away until it was nothing but a dull throb. By this time your mind is starting to fog, but you still have a semblance of understanding what exactly is happening. You’re dying, your body is shutting down. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Between Birth And Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've written a fic with this premise before, but I don't think it really told the story I wanted to tell. So I did a little experimenting with my writing style, and I came up with this. I've never written anything in this point of view, and i'm very nervous about it. I just hope you enjoy it as much as I do!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ernest Hemingway once said that “</span>
  <b>
    <em>dying is a very simple thing. I’ve looked at death, and really I know. If I should have died it would have been very easy for me. Quite the easiest thing I ever did.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some people think dying is difficult, but you knew better, you knew how easy, it was. Dying is sort of like being born in reverse, as you die, your senses start fading out, one by one. First it was your sight, the world gradually got fuzzy, blurry, to the point where you couldn’t make out the features of the man leaning over you, begging you to hold on. And then there was the searing pain in your torso, slowly fading away until it was nothing but a dull throb. By this time your mind is starting to fog, but you still have a semblance of understanding what exactly is happening. You’re dying, your body is shutting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while you tried to fight. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Keep your eyes open, Emily. Keep breathing, Emily. Don’t die, Emily</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But you were so tired and so cold. What’s the harm in just resting your eyes? Just for a moment, but that moment pulled you into eternal darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for you, you wake up. You don’t know how long you’ve been out and you’re terrified, but you can hear, you can hear the familiar whirring and beeping of hospital machines signaling that you’re alive. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You relish in that fact, you relish in the pain, and there is so much pain. Your body feels as though you’ve been sawed in half, your face is on fire, and it feels like you’ve pulled every muscle in your body, but you’re alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you open your eyes, you almost weep from joy, because you can see the fluorescent, hospital lights, and sure your vision takes a little adjusting, but you can see light again. Of course you don’t have time to focus on the lights when you hear someone’s footsteps walking towards you. Your body automatically freeze’s, your pulse quickens, and you inhale a little softer, a little deeper. As you inhale you immediately recognize that scent, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jasmine and vanilla</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you can’t help the lone tear that slowly slides down your cheek, the saltiness stinging the laceration on your face. You never expected to smell that sweet, overbearing scent again, you never expected to see her again, but here she is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You want to scream, tell her how sorry you are, tell all of them how sorry you are, but there’s a tube lodged in your throat, so you struggle to lift your hand, reaching out to her. She grabs it, gently, running her fingers over you knuckles, before interlacing her fingers with yours. “Emily…” You can tell that she’s been crying, her voice is raw and shaky, her eyes are red, swollen with shed tears. You want to tell her that it’s okay, that you’re fine, you survived, and that everythings okay now, but by the look on her face you can tell that somethings wrong, and you’re immediately filled with dread.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You, Emily Lauren Prentiss, born October 12th, 1975, are legally dead. Even though Hotch and JJ have just explained it to you, you still can’t seem to grasp the reality of it, but it’s really quite simple, and it’s totally reasonable, but whenever you think about it, you can’t help but to go back to that place. That dark place that leaves a cold, chill in your bones, that makes you chest heave as you struggle to take in air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly your hospital bed feels too small, and the walls are closing in on you. You don’t even notice that you’re having a panic attack, until Hotch orders JJ to find a nurse while he coaches you through a breathing exercise. </span>
  <b>
    <em>In..1...2..3...4...5, out 6..7...8..9...10. </em>
  </b>
  <span>By the time the nurse arrives, you’ve calmed down, but you can feel that darkness looming behind you, just waiting for the next chance to swallow you whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of your elevated heart rate, the nurse decides visiting time is over. JJ and Hotch briefly say their goodbyes, and as soon as they're gone, you feel that darkness looming over you. They’re your only tie to the real world, the only thing that reminds you that you’re alive, that you survived, that you won. Luckily for you, the nurse has given you a sedative, and before you know it you're drifting off into a serene sleep.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When you dream, you don’t dream of darkness. You dream of a hill and a girl. She’s young, six or maybe seven, and she’s on top of the hill. She has flowing dark hair, and a pure smile, a smile full of light. She’s dancing in the sun, you want to stay there forever, just to watch her dance, but you feel drawn to her, like she’s waiting, beckoning you to come towards her. So you walk towards her, your lips turning up into a smile, the sun warm on your face. As you walk the hill gets steeper and steeper, and when you reach the top, the little girl is gone, and so is the sun, and so is the light. You search everywhere, calling for her, but you know the darkness has swallowed her whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you wake, you wake with a start, air rushing into your lungs quickly causing you to wheeze. The tube clogging your airways makes it impossible for you to catch your breath. Luckily for you, your nurse was just making her rounds. She lays you flat on your back, coaxing you into a stable breathing cycle. When you’ve calmed down, she looks at you with a smile, and it reminds of that little girl in your dreams, which reminds you of Penelope. A beacon of light in this cruel, cruel world. When you see her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> you see her again, you vow to tell her exactly what she is to you.</span>
</p>
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